


Particular Things

by hetzi_clutch



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Drabbles, F/F, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, basically anything goes, for all the little stuff i write, gen - Freeform, hug pollen, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2020-01-31 13:51:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 15,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18592549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hetzi_clutch/pseuds/hetzi_clutch
Summary: The Doctor, her fam, and the universe (and a lot more).Basically, a dumping ground for all my short pieces/prompts/drabbles/etc.





	1. Chapter 1

They’re facing off for—oh, what is it, the millionth time? She’s honestly lost track. And Missy has to admit, it was worth escaping death just to see _this,_ a new Doctor with a new pretty face and hair she really quite needs to redo, and shirt that looks like it’s trying to tell her something.

“So you’re just going to blow the whole planet up, then?” the Doctor asks, her eyes sparking with anger and her knuckles white, curled into fists even though it’s useless. She’s been tied to a chair since the moment she fell into the room, Missy made sure of that. Should have added a gag too, but that accent is too entertaining.

“Please, I’m not blowing them up, I’m wiping them out.” Missy rolls her eyes, and leans against the control panel. With her umbrella in hand, she reaches out, taps the button starting the countdown. “You should know there’s a difference. Why would I destroy the planet? It’s free real estate.”

The Doctor has no words for this, clearly, for her mouth just cuts into one hard line, and she breathes in, nostrils flaring. Her eyes dart behind Missy, to what she knows has to be the enormous countdown numbers that have flickered to life on a screen overhead. She designed them just for the Doctor. The Doctor hates a good countdown. Especially when it ends in genocide.

“Don’t do this, Missy,” she spits at last, and Missy tilts her head, eyebrows raised in faux-surprise.

“Oh, Doctor,” she sighs, and stalks forward, letting her umbrella swing with each step. She reaches the chair the Doctor is strapped to, and bends down, until her cheek grazes the Doctor’s, and her lips are almost, but not quite, touching her ear. She hears the Doctor suck in a breath beneath her, and feels a faint twinge of satisfaction. Seems that doesn’t change, no matter the regeneration. 

“You never learn, do you?” she asks her. “Every time, you try to stop me. Every time, you try to _change_ me. When will you learn? Don’t ruin the dynamic.”

She draws back, abruptly, and the Doctor’s gaze follows her, eyes narrowed in quiet rage. 

“I’m the one who never learns?” she asks, and Missy lets a smirk creep up her face. She can see victory glinting in the Doctor’s gaze, and she can already hear the tedious, taunting speech that’s about to follow.

“What do you have to teach me, Doctor?” she says sweetly, and cocks her head to the side. “Another moral platitude? A plea to goodness? I think I’ve heard it all, at this point.”

“Nothing to teach you, actually.” The Doctor grins, and it’s rough and fierce and _oh_ she likes that look on her. “Just that I’ve already disabled the devices you planted in the inhabitants of that planet. And the one you planted on me. Might want to rethink your countdown.”

The countdown is at one minute, and Missy glances at it, then shrugs. “So you disabled the bombs on this ship, too?”

The victory on the Doctor’s face falls completely away. “The what?”

“Doctor, Doctor.” Missy chuckles, and then leans forward, teeth bared like a shark. “Don’t ruin the dynamic.”

And then she kisses her, just a light peck on the lips, before straightening up and skipping past, towards the doors which open immediately.

“Only one escape pod!” she calls back, and hears the Doctor huff in rage, hears her yanking at her ties, and chuckles again, to herself. It’s a shame, she thinks, that the escape pod isn’t big enough for two. She wouldn’t have minded, even if it were a tight squeeze.

_Especially_ if it were a tight squeeze.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of a messy, unedited oneshot, done for Hellynz in the fanzine chat! Hopefully you guys will like it.
> 
> Also where are Ryan and graham? Idk!

The bomb goes off, and the shockwave knocks them all back. Yaz goes flying through the air, lands with a _whump!_ on a pile of garbage, and for a dizzy moment sees stars. Then her vision clears and she sees actual stars, high above. She stares at them, and something nags at her mind, something important—

“Doctor!” She jerks upright, too fast, and falls back again, head spinning. The scene replays in her mind, moments ago; the flash, dangerously close, and the Doctor, pushing Yaz behind her. Her body, as she fell through the air.

“Doctor…” she raises her head, slower this time, and squints across the dark landscape, the piles of trash, trying to see.

It doesn’t take long. The Doctor is only a few feet away, and for an awful moment Yaz thinks she’s dead. She’s splayed across the ground, limbs flung out, head lolling towards the sky. A thin trickle of blood runs from the side of her mouth. Another dribbles from her nose. Her suspenders have snapped, the whole front of her shirt scorched and shredded. Yaz stares, watching orangish-red soak through, and resists the urge to cry.

In the not-so-distance, she hears a cloister bell toll, and turns her head. And understands immediately.

The TARDIS is calling them home.

Yaz only has to deliver her.

She struggles to her feet, painstaking, slow—too slow. Her instincts urge for her to run, but she physically can’t. Her head is pounding a heavy rhythm, and she can barely think straight. Just moving is hard enough.

Walking is not yet a possibility, but she manages to crawl over to the Doctor, reaches her side just as she lets out a soft moan. The sound tears through Yaz’s heart, and something chokes up in her throat—she’s not sure whether it’s a laugh or a sob. No—relief. It bubbles through her chest.

“You’re alive,” she whispers, and the Doctor’s eyelids flutter, but don’t open. Yaz glances to the TARDIS, several hundred meters away, and sucks in a breath. “Don’t worry, Doctor. I’m going to get you home.”

It’s too early to stand, but she has to, so she does it anyway. She pulls the Doctor up with her, a slow, laborious process, wincing every time her fingers brush blood. It takes too long to pull her into her hands, to stand her up so she slumps against her shoulder, but Yaz manages it in the end, and just prays that it’s not too late. She can feel the Doctor’s double heartbeats pressed against her shoulder, but they’re too sluggish to be reassuring. She doesn’t even know what she’s going to do once she gets to the TARDIS.

But she has to get there first.

“I’ve got you,” she whispers, and carefully, carefully, bends down, wrapping one hand around her legs, and swings her into what would resemble a bridal carry, if she weren’t sagging from exhaustion. “I’ve got you.”

And then she starts to walk.

She almost doesn’t make it. She stumbles several times, trips once, and nearly sends them both catapulting to the ground. But she steels herself every time, forces herself to go slow, and when she finally reaches the doors, which open immediately, she only manages to take one staggering step inside before they both go toppling to the ground.

She cushions the Doctor’s fall as best she can, but they still hit hard, and she winces with guilt. They lie there for several seconds, the Doctor unconscious, Yaz figuring out what the hell she can do. She has no medical training beyond first aid, and the Doctor clearly needs more than that.

But she can’t let her die.

“Yaz,” comes a croaking voice to her left, and Yaz jerks up, then falls the Doctor’s side.

“Doctor,” she gasps, through stupid, traitorous tears. “You’re alive.”

“Am I?” The Doctor seems more surprised than Yaz at the idea. Her eyes roam past her to the ceiling, the arches, and she stares unfocusedly. “Are we...in the TARDIS?”

Yaz nods. “Yeah. You’re safe now, Doctor. I promise.”

The Doctor’s eyes fall to her, confused. “How?”

Yaz sniffs, then swipes angrily at her nose. “I carried you. But I don’t know what to do now, I don’t have any medical—“

“That’s fine, it’s fine.” The Doctor cuts her off with an unexpected movement, reaching up to touch her cheek, before letting her arm drop to her side. “I can...I can heal myself, it’s something called a healing coma, I’ll be fine. But Yaz…”

Yaz’s stomach plummets with relief. _She’ll be fine._ “Yeah?”

The Doctor smiles, loopy, lopsided. “My Yaz. You saved me.”

And then her eyelids flutter shut and her head lolls, and Yaz stares, sniffling. Then she wipes at a tear making its way down her cheek, and settles beside the Doctor, lying back against the cool floor. She reaches out, groping, until she finds the Doctor’s hand, and pulls it into her own. Then she stares at the ceiling, listens to the Doctor’s breathing slow, and squeezes her palm.

And then she waits.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay this is fast and unedited (all of these are, sorry), but this is inspired by a discussion in the collarbones cult/ a present for mel, our fearless leader! hope i did it justice.
> 
> also, heavily inspired by the fact that JODIE WAS SEEN WEARING A TUX ON SET WHILE FILMING. A TUX. OH MY GOD.

“Doctor, are you ready?” Ryan called without looking up. His eyes were on his phone, and he stood leaned up against a white pillar, occasionally pulling at the collar of his tuxedo. Graham, standing by the console, looked far more comfortable in his tuxedo, and a good deal more impatient.

“Yaz, why does it always take so long for women to put on a dress?” he asked. Yaz just shook her head, and swallowed the urge to shoot back a remark about her own relative quickness, if only because he seemed honestly inquisitive.

“Yaz didn’t take this long,” Ryan answered, thumbs flying across his phone. He glanced up, and gave Yaz a nod. “Nice dress, by the way. Didn’t know you could clean up.”

“Thanks,” Yaz responded sourly. “Same to you, Ry.”

“You do look great, Yaz,” Graham said, and she gave him an appreciative smile. “Didn’t know blue was your color.”

“Is it?” Yaz looked down, and affected a shrug, though she couldn’t help but feel a little pleased. “Thanks. The Doctor didn’t give us much time and all, for this fancy dress thing. Basically was shovin me into the wardrobe, then banging on the door before I’d even had a chance to look around.”

“Yeah well, you were takin too long!” a cheerful voice exclaimed from the hallway, and they all turned with varying expressions of relief.

“Oi, Doc, next time you can’t nag us about being late if you’re the one who—” Ryan began to say, his eyes rising from his phone, only to stop, his mouth forming into a silent ‘o’. Graham wasn’t far behind.

Yaz’s jaw was simply on the floor.

“Sorry, Ryan!” the Doctor cast him a flustered smile. “My old suit didn’t fit, so I had to find this one, and do a few alterations. Luckily I’m a fast seamstress, yeah?”

She threw her arms wide and did a little twirl, her shining black shoes stopping with a _scuff_ when she finished.

“What do you all think?”

Nobody answered. They were all too busy staring. 

“Er, Doc,” Graham began, his eyes roaming uncertainly over her outfit. “You’re wearing a tux?”

“Course I am, Graham!” she scoffed, and gripped her labels with both hands, rocking back on her heels. “What else would I wear? I’ve no idea how to work a dress!”

“Um—” Yaz’s voice came out strangled. She was staring, eyes wide as they traveled up the Doctor’s form; from her shiny black dress shoes, to the black trousers, white cummerbund, and fitted jacket complete with a bow tie and tapered tailcoat. “I—I could have helped you. If you wanted. With the dress.”

“Could you have?” Ryan asked. He was smirking openly in her direction. Yaz ignored him.

The Doctor shot Ryan a strange look, then turned to Yaz, a grin creeping up her face. “Could you have? Well maybe next time I—you alright, Yaz?”

“Huh?” Yaz’s eyes, which had been busy examining her form, snapped to her face. Abruptly, she realized she was blushing, which of course, only caused her to blush more. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

The Doctor shook her head, expression dropping into worry “You don’t look fine.”

“I think she’s more than fine,” Ryan said with a sly smile, only to shut up as Graham pinned him with a glare.

“I’m fine,” Yaz insisted weakly, but it was too late; the Doctor was striding over to her, open worry crinkling her brow. She pulled up short only a foot away, and leaned in, her eyes peering directly into Yaz’s.

“Hmm, Yaz. You looked flushed, and your eyes are glassy. Looks like you have a fever. Have you been feeling off today?”

Quickly, Yaz shook her head, heart pounding. Her traitorous cheeks flushed a deeper red. “Doctor, I’m okay, really I—”

“Now, none of that, Yaz!” the Doctor grabbed her arm, gently, and spun her around, towards the hallway. “C’mon, we’ve got time to check you out! We’re in a time machine, remember? No party until Yaz feels better.”

With a firm, gentle grip, the Doctor guided her towards the hallway, passing Graham and Ryan, the latter of who shot her a wide, smirking grin. She stuck her tongue out in return, but his grin only grew wider.

“Feel better, Yaz!” he called after her, as the Doctor steered her down the hallway.

“Shove it, Ryan!” she called back, only for the Doctor to give her a reproachful shush.  
“Oi, he’s being nice to you!” 

“He really isn’t,” Yaz muttered. “And really Doctor, I’m totally healthy. Not sick, in any way.”

Except for maybe one, but she wasn’t about to mention it. And when was the heat going to leave the back of her neck?

“Nonsense, Yaz,” the Doctor said. “Better safe than sorry.”

They reached the medbay door, and Yaz went to open it, only for the Doctor to lunge in front of her instead. With an utterly serious expression, she pushed the door wide and held it, gesturing for Yaz to step through.

Yaz complied, blushing harder.

“You don’t need to do this,” Yaz tried one more time, as the Doctor pushed her onto a hospital bed covered with white paper, and began rummaging through cabinets for a stethoscope. “Even if I were sick—which I’m not—I could just go lie down and you wouldn’t have to bother with the whole check-up.”

Which, she figured, would probably be far more helpful than whatever the Doctor was trying to do right now. In fact, anything with the Doctor wearing _that_ outfit, in any sort of proximity, could fairly be considered a non-helper.

“Yeah, but you didn’t consider this,” the Doctor said, and at last yanked a stethoscope free from a tangled drawer of equipment. She turned around, flushed with success. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”

And that stunned Yaz into silence. Enough so that she didn’t protest as the Doctor pressed the stethoscope to her chest, and then her back, lifting her hair, then frowned, concerned.

“Hmm, Yaz—your heart is pounding. Like absolutely _racing._ Maybe I should...you know what, let me check your throat too.”

She removed the stethoscope and laid it to the side, then groped for a small light, which she shined into Yaz’s eyes, then her mouth.

“Say Aaaah.”

This is utterly ridiculous, Yaz thought.

She said Ah.

The Doctor finished her examination and drew back, clearly unsatisfied. Her lips were pursed in a small frown. “Okay, Yaz, you don’t have to pretend for my benefit.”

“What?” Yaz’s head jerked up, and her heart started beating faster. “Pretend what?”

“That you’re not sick!” the Doctor exclaimed tossing her hands in the air. Then she jabbed a finger at Yaz, and adopted a stern look. “Yaz, I know this is supposed to be the greatest party of the twenty-second century, but it can wait! You should be out of that dress and off to bed—”

And that was about where Yaz drew the line.

“Okay, this really is ridiculous,” she said, and slid off the hospital bed, brushing past the Doctor. Her cheeks were still burning, but now it was just heavy embarrassment, which she had the feeling was quickly about to turn to awkwardness. “Sorry Doctor, you all can go to the party, but I’m—”

“Wait—Yaz!” the Doctor spun around, then lurched after her, coattails flapping. She followed Yaz out the door and down the hallway, catching up just as she was about to turn the corner. “Yaz, did I do something?”

Yaz stopped, stymied. She felt caught between the urge to laugh and cry, and that embarrassment was still weighing upon her, leaning her towards the second option.

But she didn’t want her makeup to run.

She turned around and put her hands on her hips. “Doctor, are you thick?”

Offense, she reflected, was always better than defense. 

The Doctor didn’t seem to think so. She held her hands up in front of her and gave a vigorous shake of her head. “I don’t think so? Why, did I read the symptoms wrong?”

“Oh my god,” Yaz mouthed, then snapped her mouth shut and shook her head, disbelieving. “Doctor, this is embarrassing. Please, you’re embarrassing me.”

“Why?” the Doctor honestly, sincerely, didn’t seem to get it. “Is this a thing with humans? You don’t want me to know if you’re sick?”

“ _No,_ ” Yaz scowled. Then, after a moment, she sighed, and dropped her eyes to the floor. They stayed there for a second, then she raised them to meet the Doctor’s nonplussed gaze.

“Doctor, think,” she said slowly, hating every awkward word. “Flushed skin, fast heartbeat, glassy eyes...what else can that be, if I’m not sick?”

“If you’re not…” the Doctor trailed off, mouth hanging open. She closed it, then opened it again, jaw working. “Oh. _Oh.”_

Yaz closed her eyes, and sighed, letting the painful moment settle over her. It wasn’t pleasant. “Yeah.”

“Ryan?”

“What?” her eyes snapped open, and she gaped at the Doctor. “What? No! Doctor, are you actually thick?”

“No!” the Doctor said, but she still looked confused. “Hang on—then who can it—”

“It’s _you,_ you idiot,” Yaz growled. She was seriously starting to rethink her entire emotional desires, tux or no. “You and your—your stupid tux!”

“Oi, it’s not stupid!” the Doctor actually looked hurt at this statement. She crossed her arms, pushing her lower lip out. “Why’d you have to bring the suit into it?”

Yaz sighed, a deep, exasperated exhale. “Because you look bloody good in it, you daft—”

“Really?” 

This pulled Yaz up short. She stared at the Doctor, who for some reason was grinning like a loon.

“Huh?”

“You think I look good in it?”

Yaz kept on staring. “Um. Obviously. Apparently enough so that you had to drag me through the most horrifying medical examination of my life.”

But at her words, the Doctor sagged, and clapped a hand to her forehead. “Oh thank goodness! I was so worried you wouldn’t like it! I was actually lying about the alterations, I tried on about half a dozen different ones and I couldn’t figure out which one would be—”

That was about the time Yaz decided to shut her up. The Doctor was still talking when Yaz’s lips met hers, but the moment they touched, she choked on whatever word she was about to say and turned bright red, and might not have continued the kiss, out of sheer surprise, but then Yaz, luckily, decided to take control. She yanked her closer by the lapels, sandwiching the two of them together, before tangling her hands in her hair. The Doctor was frozen, only for a moment, before she responded with such enthusiasm that she nearly sent them both stumbling backwards.

She pulled away abruptly, after a minute, gasping, and held Yaz at arm’s length. 

“Yaz,” she said, a goofy grin upon her face. “Did I mention I liked your dress?”

Yaz stared at her. Slowly, she shook her head in disbelief. “Oh, shut up.”

Then she didn’t wait for the Doctor’s reply, but pulled her close so as to do the job herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys it's been a while since i talked about the fanzine, but if you haven't heard about it, you should definitely check it out! we're on tumblr and twitter at @thirteenfanzine, and we've got some incredibly talented people working on it! trust me, the final product is gonna be rad.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to spoil anything about certain artwork, but this one is for Jolivira :) if yall don't know her work, you should definitely check it out. Seriously, it's amazing.

“Doctor, sit _still_.”

“I _am._ ” She wriggled her fingers to accompany the statement, and Yaz shot her a glare. The fingers stilled.

“That is not still, if you keep moving every time I touch your skin.”

“Yeah well, it’s a bit cold.” Her lower lip pushed out in a pout, and Yaz pulled her hand away and to her mouth, stifling a laugh.

“You look like a child. And you didn’t complain nearly as much when we did it with my Nani.”

“Yeah, well that would have been rude, wouldn’t it?” she frowned. “And it was a bit hotter in the Punjab, if you don’t mind my saying. It’s freezing in here, and I can’t figure out why.”

She shivered to accompany the statement, and glanced towards the ceiling, brow creased in annoyance. “I’ve been messing with the thermometer, but it won’t budge. And the TARDIS has hidden my coat.”

“Looks like she’s hidden your trousers too.” Yaz shot a conspicuous glance towards the Doctor’s TARDIS-blue shorts, held up with suspenders. She’d been using the time to finish the design on the Doctor’s left hand, and with one last dot of dye, she let go and moved onto the right. “It’s weird, because I don’t think it’s that bad.”

“So it must be me then.” The Doctor held up her left hand to examine. She let out a soft gasp, eyes glowing. “Oh Yaz, it’s brilliant! Loads better than the last one, if you don’t mind me saying, though she was in a bit of a rush. And it’s so _intricate_.”

“Really?” Yaz looked up, a proud smile sneaking over her face. A blush rose as well, and then she ducked her head, turning her attention back to the right hand. “I used to love it when I was younger. My Nani taught me, and then when my cousins got married they would let me experiment. I’ve been doing it for years, now.”

“You can tell,” the Doctor said, twisting her hand around to examine the back. “You must have a steady hand, for this kind of work.”

“Well, I suppose,” Yaz answered. Her head was still ducked down, laser focused on the Doctor’s right hand. “I’m good at icing cakes too, actually.”

“I can imagine,” the Doctor said, and then stopped as her teeth chattered. “Oi, are you sure it’s not cold in here? It’s properly freezing, I swear.”

Yaz shrugged, but looked up from her work, eyes glinting with worry. “No, I don’t feel a thing. Are you alright, Doctor? Want to go get a blanket?”

The Doctor shook her head. “Nah, I don’t want to leave before it’s done. Only I don’t know why—” she paused and shivered, her teeth chattering again— “it’s so _cold_.”

Yaz looked at her for a moment, then down to her hand. She seemed to be thinking about something. After a moment she said, without looking up, “I have an idea, if you don’t want to leave before it’s done.”

The Doctor grinned. “Ideas from Yaz. Would love that. Does it involve jerry-rigging the thermometer?”

“No.” Yaz looked up, a small smile quirking her lips. She seemed to be deciding something. After a moment, she laid the Mehndi cone down and said, “Okay, come here.”

She shifted from her crossed-legs position and gestured for the Doctor to move as well. The Doctor stared for a moment, uncomprehending, and then a blinding grin split her face.

“Oh Yaz, you are brilliant, aren’t you? An actual genius, no idea why I didn’t think of that.” With careful movements, hands held so as to touch the floor, or any other surface as little as possible, she clambered across the short space between them and settled between Yaz’s legs, leaning back against her.

“You’re sure you can do it like this?” she asked. Their cheeks were close enough to be touching, and when she spoke, a hitch came in Yaz’s breathing.

“Um, yeah. Course I can,” she choked out, then cleared her throat. “Actually easier for me, this way. Just be sure to sit still, yeah?”

In response, the Doctor just waggled her fingers. “’Course I will, Yasmin Khan. For you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so in my head, the Doctor's off-hand comment about baking inspires Yaz's venture back into baking as seen in my fic 'Yaz, the Doctor, and the Secrets of the Universe'. like a little prequel thing. Also, I researched a lot for the Mehndi, but if there's anything I got wrong, please let me know! I want to make it as accurate as possible.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should really start updating this tbh. Oh, and this was inspired by through and through by hellynz, which is a fic you should all check out bc it is fuckinh amazing

It’s so easy with this face, she thinks. It’s like putty, with a nose that scrunches and a mouth that slips into a goofy smile like it was born to do so. Her last face was so...stoic. Showed exactly who she was inside, grim and cynical and mean, and she had to spend years and years trying to convince herself of the opposite. Smile when it hurt, turn herself kind on the outside so she would feel it on the inside.

But now she smiles easily, and with great exuberance, and it’s so, so easy to hide.

She’s got three new friends now, bright and shiny humans whose eyes sparkle with wonder at every new spectacle, even the piddling ones. She shows them stars and their eyes grow wide, even at the boring ones. She takes them to twenty different New Year’s celebrations just to watch them smile, to catch that glimmer in Yaz’s eye and the drop of Ryan’s jaw. 

She takes them on little outings first, just to be safe, since they _are_ only human. Brilliant maybe, but human, only a trip and a skip past apes, and even though she loves them she always has to take precautions. 

They’re just so _fragile._

But then they defeat that Dalek, all of them together, and even manage to save Ryan’s deadbeat dad in the process despite the Doctor’s efforts to push him out the door.

(She was looking out for Ryan, like taking a piece of tinsel from a cat before it swallows it. Sure there’s an ache now, but there’s a ‘for the best’ later on, and she’s got to keep them safe, doesn’t she?)

That Dalek changes things, mainly because it impresses the Doctor. The teamwork, the determination—the sacrifice! Little humans working together to save their planet, the way they’ve always done, and she can only look on with a warm feeling of pride in her heart. Trained them well, she thinks, chest swelling. Made them better than they were, stronger. A family, in its own right.

So she ups the danger, a little bit. 

And finds out immediately that it’s too much to handle.

She’s smacking herself as she ducks through laser beams to get to Yaz, seconds away from getting torn to shreds, and cursing at her own stupidity. Slow, slow! She had to go _slow,_ only she’d gotten all excited, and she knows the moment Yaz dies, the Doctor will cry for weeks with the pathetic sense of loss of a kid losing her goldfish.

But she doesn’t. She doesn’t cry, and she doesn’t get Yaz killed either, because at the last second she figures out something clever to disarms those lasers and watches the stars burst in Yaz’s eyes when she pulls her bodily to her feet.

And the Doctor feels _good._

She’d been sentimental in her last body, despite the meanness of her brow and the bluntness of her words. Opened up to friend after friend, gave herself over to a vulnerability she’d tried to shut away after the Time War. 

And it had _hurt._

It was good too, in many ways. It softened that grumpy old man, eased his hard fought path to _be kind,_ and when she finally regenerated—and even that, she recalls with a bitter chuckle, was a moral battle—she was determined to bring that with her. The kindness, the openness, the _vulnerability._

But now it is too easy to be kind in her face and not in her heart, and she always forgets that it’s just as hard to open up the second time around as it is the first. And meanwhile, under this putty-face which pulls emotions so easily, she watches Yaz and Ryan and Graham fall in love with the act she puts on. With the emotions she can bring so easily to the surface (though they don’t know how she can tuck them away too). 

Where’s the line, she wonders, between the face she puts on and the person she chooses to be?

After those lasers, the question of almost sits in her head for days. Yaz almost dead, Yaz almost gone. She shouldn’t have put them in that situation, she thinks. She most certainly couldn’t put them in another like that.

But the way Yaz had _looked_ at her—

A week later, the Doctor’s finger slips, and they fall into a war.

It’s a tough one, with lots of bombs and dead bodies—though she supposes that’s par for the course—and she snatches Ryan from death at least twice, and every time he thanks her like she saved the entire world. The Doctor glows.

It was wrong, she thinks later, guiltily, when she’s alone in the console room. Wrong, and dangerous, and if Ryan had actually died—well, she wouldn’t have been able to bear it. 

Only they didn’t die, and Ryan was safe, and though even so the Doctor promises herself to take it slow, her fingers twitch towards the take off lever.

It happens again, a week later. And then again. And again. Her fingers keep slipping, or maybe she’s just bad at steering, she tells herself, as they end up in wars and revolutions and dangerous, disease-filled areas, spaceships crashing to the ground. Every time they almost die, and every time she yanks them from death at the very last second, closer and closer each time.

She loves it.

It’s adrenaline, pumping through her veins, and it’s adoration in their eyes, practically hero worship, and it’s the warm feeling in her chest that says _I’ll take care of you._ And she will, she’s sure of it. She’s fought in wars that spanned the entirety of time and space. Surely she can take care of three measly humans.

And then she loses Graham.

It’s an accident, of course it is, a miscalculation, but that doesn’t matter, does it? She catches his terrified face moments before the giant fish creature’s jaw snaps shut, hears a terrified scream cut short, and knows it will haunt her for weeks. For Ryan and Yaz, she can see on their faces, it will haunt them for much longer. 

They both choose to leave the TARDIS, almost immediately after the fact, and she can’t blame them. The guilt sits within her, heavy like rocks, and she doesn’t bother hiding it. Better they see it, she thinks. Better that they know. 

Ryan doesn’t talk to her as he leaves, just brushes by with a sharp, angry silence she doesn’t understand, but Yaz lingers. She stands by the door, awkward and uncertain, and waits until the Doctor turns to get to speak.

“You didn’t save him.”

The Doctor stares. She almost wants to close her eyes, slowly, against the misguided anger she’s about to bear witness to. It’s not the first time she’s had people take out their feelings on her, for whatever reason. She decides to take it.

“I know, Yaz. I’m sorry.“

“No.” 

“Huh?” Her head jerks up sharply, and she looks at her, confused. “What do you mean no?“

Yaz is shaking her head. There are tears in her eyes. “No. Don’t act like that, okay? Me and Ryan both saw you, hangin’ back til the last moment. Doing something with the boat you didn’t have to bother with. You let him die, didn’t you? You could have saved him, but you just—you just let him go.”

Her voice chokes on the last word and she brings a hand to her mouth. The Doctor stares. Her mouth works, and she swallows once.

“Yaz, that’s not—“

“No, but you always do that, don’t you?” Yaz plows right past her, anger pushing away the tears. “I started noticing it a couple weeks ago, how every time someone’s about to die, it’s always at the last second you get to them. Even when it doesn’t need to be. You wait, don’t you? You let us wait for you.”

“I—what?” Distantly, the Doctor realizes, her jaw is hanging open. She shakes her head vigorously. “Yaz, you know I would never let you get hurt, right? I would never—“

“But you did,” she spits, hands balling. “You did, with Graham, didn’t you? You were just—just showing off, and you thought that we wouldn’t notice. Only we did, me and Ryan. We both saw and—and—“

Emotion overwhelms her and she cups both hands to her mouth, half turns away. The Doctor steps forward, uncertain, and tries to reach out. Her mind is reeling. She’s no idea what to do.

Her hand touches Yaz’s shoulder and Yaz jumps.

“Get off of me!” She pushed her away and steps back, towards the door. “Stop—stop pretending you care, won’t you?”

“I do care,” the Doctor says numbly. She can’t think of an argument, can’t think of words. She’s always been so good at _words—_

Yaz shakes her head. “You don’t, not in the normal way. You just think of us like—oh, god. You think of us as pets, don’t you?”

She’s gazing wide eyed and horrified at the Doctor now, who quickly shakes her head, even though she can see it’s too late. Yaz’s mouth forms an ‘o’, her cheeks tracked with tears.

“That’s all we are to you,” she whispers. “Pets. That’s why you keep us around, isn’t it?”

Words, where are her _words—_ “Yaz, no, I swear that’s not it at all—“

“Yes it is,” she spits, and backs up to the door, one hand groping behind for the handle. “I—don’t come anywhere near me, okay? I don’t want to talk, or see you ever again—“

“Yaz, _no—_ “ the Doctor takes a step forward, then stops as Yaz’s face whitens with fear. She watches her grab the handle, yank it open, and nearly tumble through the door, tripping.

“Don’t follow me,” she says, practically begging, and the Doctor nearly does, but something in her face stops her. Instead she takes a step back, and watches the door slam shut, hears it echo throughout the console room. She stares. Silence reigns.

It’s empty. Overwhelmingly empty, the kind she hasn’t felt since she’s had this face, and she hates it. She keeps staring at the door, completely numb, even the guilty sadness of Graham’s death washed away in shock.

They had _seen—_

Laugh hard. Run fast. Be kind. Only she hadn’t run fast, and she’s eons away from kind now, and there’s nobody around to laugh anymore. Not Yaz, nor Ryan. Certainly not Graham.

“Be kind,” she whispers, and for the first time since she regenerated, doesn’t feel an emotion tug at her face. Doesn’t pull her mouth into a frown, or force a smile through tears she knows she can shuffle away, if she really tried. She doesn’t even try to smile. 

_Be kind._

But what’s the point, she wonders bitterly, if there’s nobody around to see it?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, it's ya boi, back with another chapter (somebody's gonna shoot me on sight if i don't stop saying this). total opposite of the last one, so that's something, yeah?

“Doctor?”

She had to be in the console room. The noises—clattering and the occasional loud bang—were coming from there. Only Yaz had just entered the console room, and she was nowhere in sight.

“Doctor?”

And then she rounded the console and nearly fell into a hole.

“Whoa!” She stumbled back, biting her tongue as she suppressed a stronger word. Annoyance flashed through her, propelled by shock more than anything, and she scowled and put her hands on her hips.

“Doctor!”

This time, she was close enough—and loud enough—to be heard.

“Yes?” There came a loud bang, the clatter of what had to be tools being dropped, and Yaz’s scowl deepened in preparation for the lecture she was about to give. A tiny lecture. More of a reprimand, really. 

“Doctor, I nearly fell into that—“

And then she stopped, as the Doctor’s head popped up and she gave a wild look around, before her eyes landed upon her.

“Oh, hi Yaz!” A grin split her goggled, grease-smeared face, and Yaz stared. And stared.

The Doctor’s grin dropped. “You okay?”

“Uh—“ she had engine grease right on her nose, Yaz noticed. And smeared across her cheek. And possibly in her hair, though it was hard to tell with the messy, short ponytail she had pulled it back into.

“Just wanted to know where you were,” she forced out, and managed to gesture towards the hole. “Repairs?”

If her voice squeaked slightly, the Doctor didn’t notice. She just lit up once more in a grin.

“Always! Never out of things to fix on the TARDIS!”

The TARDIS gave an annoyed beep, and the Doctor frowned and looked up at the ceiling.

“Oi, no smart words from you!”

Then she looked to Yaz again, and gestured cheerily towards the hole. “Care to join? See the magic happen?”

“Um—sure,” Yaz said, then gulped for no reason at all. Her heart was pounding. Why was her heart pounding? “Just—be there in a minute.”

“Sure thing!” The Doctor ducked down, a moment later there came a series of clangs as she clambered down to who-knew-where. Yaz waited until she was gone, then whirled around to hide her face, and leaned up against the console, gasping.

Something was wrong with her. That had to be it. She was having a small heart attack or a stroke, or something similarly serious, because she couldn’t think of another explanation for the thumping of her heart and the strange feeling in her stomach. Though she wasn’t sure one could get nausea in a heart attack. Then, it wasn’t nausea, she realized. Not exactly. It was a strange fluttering, her whole stomach turned upside in a not-unpleasant way, and she couldn’t recall ever feeling this way, except for—

_Oh._

Yaz’s heart stopped, just like that. 

Funny how a little realization could function as a bucket of cold water.

“Yaz, you coming?” The Doctor’s voice echoed up from the hole. Yaz glanced at the opening and nodded, then realized she couldn’t see her.

“Sure, Doctor!” she called. “Sorry, I just had to—“

_Figure out I’m in love with you._

“Grab something, but I’m coming!” she finished, and held her breath. Moments later, the Doctor’s cheery tones came ringing back.

“Brilliant! Hope you don’t mind though, it’s a bit of a tight squeeze!”

And just like that, Yaz’s heart was going again. She stared at the opening, and tried to think of something to say, anything, but only one thought ran through her mind.

_How on earth am I going to survive the Doctor?_

——————

The thing was, Yaz was a good police officer for a reason. She had a fair amount of bravery that carried her through their madder adventures, as well as through Danny Biswas’s window, and had now carried her into the TARDIS floor paneling, where she was currently wedged up against the Doctor, so close she could feel the rise and fall of her chest.

So it wasn’t as if she lacked bravery.

It was just _sudden._

A sudden realization and a sudden awkward situation, and now Yaz was caught between enjoying it and fighting down the urge to flee. Only problem was, she couldn’t do either; the second, for obvious reasons, and the first because the Doctor kept elbowing her every time she moved.

“Doctor,” she said again in fond exasperation—too fond? She couldn’t tell. “That’s your elbow again.”

“Oh, sorry Yaz!” The Doctor withdrew her elbow and tucked it under her chest. They were both lying stomach-down on a lower level, which was more like an alcove, as the Doctor did complicated things to fix something Yaz didn’t understand with what appeared, for all intents and purposes, to be a normal wrench. “Can’t even watch my own elbows I swear, least I’m not six feet tall anymore—“

“It’s alright,” Yaz replied, and swallowed one of those annoying grins that kept popping up. She didn’t want to look like an idiot, not in front of the Doctor. So instead she just watched her work.

Or rather, stared. Because watching the Doctor work was like watching an artist sketch. Yaz had no idea what was happening, had no idea how to replicate what she was doing, but she could see it coming together as the Doctor’s nimble hands picked gracefully through complicated machinery, connecting wires and inserting screws and other small bits Yaz had no name for. She stared, and only realized she was staring when her eyes trailed back from the Doctor’s grease-covered hands, to her profile outlined in the sharp light of a torch, then to the messy, too-short ponytail she had tossed her hair into.

Then the Doctor turned and called her name.

“Yaz?”

Yaz startled, and her eyes fell to the Doctor’s. Her goggles had been pushed up to her forehead, and she was gazing at Yaz inquisitively.

“Huh?”

“You okay? You seem a little lost.” Her nose wrinkled in concern. “Was my explanation not good enough? I can start again—“

“No, it was fine,” Yaz said quickly. And it had been. She just hadn’t been able to focus.

And now she was finding it even harder to focus with the Doctor gazing at her in concern.

_She still has engine grease on her nose._

“You just—“ she stuttered. “Uh, you have grease. On your nose.”

“Oh.” The Doctor was still staring at her in confusion. She went to bring up her arm to wipe at it, then noted the proximity of her elbow to Yaz’s side and stopped. “Um—“

“I got it.” Yaz’s heart was doing backflips. Carefully, she slid her arm out and brought it up to the Doctor’s face, only a few inches from her own. Then, before her bravery could fail her, she swiped at the Doctor’s nose with her thumb.

It didn’t all come away. She scrubbed gently, and the Doctor squeezed her eyes shut, scrunching her nose. “Did you get it all?”

“No, not yet.”

“Well here, let me—“ the Doctor leaned closer, eyes still shut, and Yaz froze. It was too close. They were too close, their faces practically touching. Yaz could feel the Doctor’s breath on her cheek.

It was almost as if she wanted her to—

No. There was no way. Yaz brought her thumb down, accidentally brushing the Doctor’s cheek. She didn’t pull away.

Yaz hesitated. 

_I can’t do this._

She leaned forward, and kissed her.

The Doctor didn’t pull away, didn’t jerk back, and the moment their lips touched, Yaz nearly melted. How had she not realized this? How long had she been looking at the Doctor, utterly blind? How many chances had she missed?

And then she realized that she was _kissing the Doctor._

Yaz jerked back, her hand flying to her mouth. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said, horrified. “I don’t know what—“

“Oi,” the Doctor opened her eyes, scrunched her nose again. “Why’d you stop?”

“Stop?” Yaz stared, baffled. “You mean you don’t—“

“Yasmin Khan.” The Doctor grinned. “You think I would invite Ryan or Graham down here?”

“I—“ Yaz’s mind reeled. She stared. “You wanted to kiss me?”

“‘Course I do!” The Doctor said indignantly. “I’ve just been waiting to see if you’d figure it out too.”

“Oh.” Yaz blushed. “I mean—I guess I did.”

“Sure did.” Slowly, a grin spread across the Doctor’s face. Then she tilted her head, questioning. “Only if you still want, I wouldn’t mind going back to—“

She didn’t have time to answer for Yaz readily complied, effectively answering the question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS okay so if you haven't heard the Thirteen Fanzine is out! It's on sale from now to July 15th, and there are both physical and digital copies available, with tons of never before seen fanart and fanfic, and best of all, all proceeds go to the Trevor Project! It's a project we've been working on for some time, and it's highly worth a look, imho. You can find the links to order, as well as more information below:
> 
> https://thirteenfanzine.tumblr.com/post/185661781634/guys-the-fanzine-is-here-you-can-buy-it-at-the
> 
> You can also check out @thirteenfanzine on twitter and tumblr to find the links to order and more information (and memes. lots of memes)


	7. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey yall, so this piece is kind of special because it's actually the prologue to my zine piece! This is post Battle of Ranskoor Av Kolos, and there's a followup that you can read if you purchase the zine, which will be available for the next two days! And obviously, you shouldn't purchase because of me, but because there are a ton of amazing artists and writers that have contributed, and all the money made off of it will go to the Trevor Project, so you'll be helping a great cause :)

It’s not going to be one of those nights, she tells herself. And she makes herself believe it, even when she feels that  _ mood _ creeping in on her from the moment they bid farewell. She dredges up a speech anyway, wraps it in pretty words.

_ ”Keep your faith. Travel hopefully. The universe will constantly surprise you.” _

It certainly will, she thinks bitterly, then pulls her fam--finally, they’re a  _ fam _ now, she knew it was cool—into the TARDIS, because she can’t look at those hopeful faces one second longer.

Hopeful. She’d saved them. She’d also destroyed everything around them. Tried to be good, tried to be kind— 

_ Be kind _ .

Oh, one day into her new face and she’d already broken her promise. And she hadn’t even realized it.

Old guilt, dusty and familiar, twists in her stomach.

“Right, fam!” she says, and practically lunges to the console, takes off quickly so they won’t see the way her fingers are trembling slightly. Only slightly. They won’t notice unless they look close.

“Off to bed, how’s about?” The second the TARDIS is in the vortex she spins around and gives them a smile. It’s perfectly convincing; there isn’t a flicker of doubt in their eyes. “Long, risky day, I mean—I think we could all use a nap. Before the next one.”

There’s a moment of silence, just enough to make her wonder if maybe they haven’t bought it, when Graham clears his throat and says, “Yeah, if I’m being perfectly honest, I’m knackered. I could do with a rest, and then—”

“Maybe somewhere relaxing?” Yaz brightens at the prospect. “You said there was that spa—”

_ Ooh. _ The Doctor nearly grimaces at that, but tucks it away just in time. “Yes spas! I could find a great spa for us, a space spa maybe—”

She uses her rambling as a broom with which to push them through the hallway entrance, bids them goodnight and watches them head off, towards their rooms. Then she turns, and find the console room is gone. Or rather, behind her back is a wall, not an entrance.

“Oh,  _ c’mon _ ,” she growls at the ceiling, hears a stubborn murmur in response. A picture of a familiar, hated bed floats in her mind, and she juts out her chin like a stubborn child.

“I don’t want to. I have work to do, repairs—”

A negative beep, and a pneumatic hiss that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.

The Doctor opens her mouth, then shuts it again. Her face twists into a glare, and she sucks in a heavy breath, holds it for a moment, then realizes it’s useless. Even she can’t change the TARDIS corridors, not without some heavy-duty tools.

All of which are in the console room.

“Fine,” she hisses, and turns on her heel, stomps off. Not in any particular direction, but the TARDIS leads her, and it doesn’t take long before she pulls up short at a blue door.

Blank, nothing but a color and a door handle. She stares at it, and feels she’s shaking, deep inside.

“I don’t want to do this,” she whispers, and the moment she says the words she knows they’re true. Behind the door is—herself. Memories, knickknacks. All the things that clutter a bedroom, and all things she avoids whenever possible, especially in moments like these. 

It’s a sad, pathetic thing to know about herself, that she’s not strong enough to even get through a door.

She wonders if she remembered to put the photographs away, and the thought that she hasn’t sends her stomach lurching and her heel turning.  

“I can’t,” she gasps, and then, defiant— “I don’t want to.”

She hears a sigh, echoing deep through the hallways, and she ignores it. Instead she pushes off the door, and goes to make tea.

It doesn’t take long, to her dismay. It’s rote memorization, and maybe the TARDIS pushes the kettle to boil a little too quickly, because it’s not long before she’s standing in front of her door again, cup in hand. Her favorite brew. Supposed to be fortifying.

She takes a sip, and it just tastes like tea.

“Ugh.” she grimaces, then shifts the cup to one hand, letting the almost-overbearing heat seep into her fingers, and reaches out a hand. She wraps it around the handle, turns.

The door clicks. She stops. 

She can’t do it. Can’t do it, can’t do it, not today, not after this—

She snatches her hand back as if burned, and whirls around, hot tea slopping over her fingers. 

“Ow,” she hisses, and holds it out and away from her body, back up against the door, and closes her eyes. Tries to think what to do.

All she can think of is those planets. Those planets, and a billion screaming souls.

She hears the thump of her body hitting the ground before she realizes she’s slid to the ground, curled up with her knees to her chest. Her arm is still out awkwardly, clutching the tea, and she stares at it, then sets it down a good foot away. Doesn’t touch it. Doesn’t even look at it.

Tea, apparently, doesn’t help for things such as these.

And then she tries to be composed, she really does. Only it’s hard when she’s curled up on the floor, with her back against a door she doesn’t have the courage to opening, and nobody’s around, and it’s the perfect position, really the perfect position to just—

The Doctor’s head sinks into her knees, and she gives herself over to tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yall, last two days to order the zine are today and tomorrow! If you're interested in purchasing, you can follow the link in the post below:
> 
> https://thirteenfanzine.tumblr.com/post/186491883039/sale-extension


	8. Prompt: Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, I finally managed to post something for this week's Thirteen Prompt week, which is all about Thirteen! Today's prompt is time, so I did something surprisingly not timey-wimey, rip. This is shameless fluff, actually. Enjoy.

“So you want to learn about time?” The Doctor was a swirl of movement, all swishing coat and scraping chalk as she lunged across the chalkboard, scribbling dangerous-looking equations. “Well, Yasmin Khan, you’ve come to the right place. Or, the right person. I can teach you anything you need to know about time, though not all of it will fit into your brain, sorry to say—”

A cough from behind had her pause, then turn around. “Sorry, was I being insulting again?”

Yaz nodded, slightly pink-faced. “A bit, yeah.”

Despite the admonition, she didn’t seem particularly offended. The Doctor studied her for a moment, then turned back to the board. 

“Right! Sorry about that, sometimes I forget how sensitive—no wait, that’s no good either, is it? Nevermind, where was I?”

Once again, chalk met board. Yaz winced, and covered her ears. The Doctor glanced at her, just a tad too long, then turned back to the board. 

“So, time! All this talking, nearly forgot the question. You wanted to know about moments, right?”

When she looked back, Yaz was nodding, eager hope upon her face. Bright-eyed with interest. It occurred to the Doctor, only for a moment, how funny it was that she seemed so interested in such a vague concept, but then she brushed the thought away. 

“Yeah,” Yaz said, still nodding. “You mentioned something the other day. About moments. How each one is special, and you could—feel them? I dunno, I guess I just didn’t get that. How is it you can feel them, and we can’t?”

“Uh—” The Doctor stared at her, nonplussed. This had not been the type of question she had been expecting. The Doctor had been gearing up for something far more temporally minded—she’d even lugged out her old chalkboard, for heaven’s sake—when really, Yaz just wanted to know about....her.

Huh. Seems she had just waded waist deep into water she’d expected to be knee high.

“You mean you want to know about—” the Doctor gulped. “—me?”  

Yaz nodded, though a crinkle of uncertainty had begun to form in her brow. “Yeah. Why, is that okay?”

The Doctor nodded, though distantly she was scrambling. She hadn’t really had the chance to give her friends a rundown on her history, which was fine, except they all seemed to be increasingly interested. Particularly Yaz, who had a tendency to ask big questions and probe at things the Doctor wasn’t quite ready to reveal, even though she  _ knew _ she should be. After all, she liked Yaz, liked her quite a lot, actually, and loved telling her all sorts of things, except—

“Doctor?”

The Doctor blinked. “Huh?”

And that was when she realized she had been staring blankly at Yaz for the past several seconds. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she blushed, then spun around to quickly face the board.

“Moments!” she said loudly, though she had no train of thought to back that word up. “Moments, moments, moments. What were we saying about moments? That I see them differently—right. Well, the thing is, Yaz—”

‘Doctor—” 

It was the proximity of her voice that made her pause. The Doctor stopped, chalk poised, then turned around to find Yaz standing, hovering anxiously a few feet away.

“You don’t have to explain,” she said. She looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Listen, I can tell it’s bothering you, and you don’t owe me an explanation. I can just go.”

And with that she turned to the door, leaving the Doctor to stare after her in utter surprise. She was already reaching for the handle by the time the Doctor’s senses returned.

“Yaz, wait—!” The Doctor rushed forward, hand outstretched, and managed to catch her by the coat hem. “I didn’t mean—you don’t have to go.”

Yaz turned to face her, the faint hints of a diminishing blush still upon her face. She looked at the Doctor’s hand, still tangled in the hem of her coat, then up to her face. 

“Sorry,” she said, though the Doctor couldn’t imagine why she was apologizing. “I just had the feeling I was pushing a bit too much.”

Slowly, the Doctor untangled her fingers from Yaz’s coat, and stepped back.

“You’re not,” she said honestly. “I just didn’t expect it, if I was being honest. I might have overreacted a bit.”

Abashed, she palmed the back of her neck, and watched tentative hope once more flare in Yaz’s eyes. She stepped forward, a small smile growing.

“So...you don’t mind?” she asked. “I mean, I was just sort of hoping I could...I dunno, learn a bit more about you. Because you really are one of the best people I’ve ever met.”

“Really?” The word slipped out before she could stop it. Yaz’s smile grew, and despite herself, the Doctor grinned as well, though she wasn’t sure why. Maybe because, although Yaz had said those words before, there was something special about them this time around. Maybe it was because she really did care what Yasmin Khan thought about her, whether she wanted to or not.

Maybe it was just because she liked her smile.

“Yeah,” Yaz answered, and this time she really was grinning broadly, the kind of grin that passed a mutual understanding between them, though the Doctor couldn’t entirely be sure of what it was. She stepped closer, and with a surprising playfulness, perhaps emboldened by the Doctor’s own slight flush, poked her in the chest. “You, specifically. I mean, Ryan and Graham are great, but—”

“They’re not you.” There were those words again, tripping out her mouth. The Doctor almost grimaced, then decided it didn’t matter, not when they both seemed to be on the same page.

Though she couldn’t figure out what page that was.

“Not me?” Yaz asked, and the Doctor nodded. Her mouth had suddenly gone dry. Funny how that happened.

“Nope,” she said. “Not you, in any way, shape, or form. Because the truth is, Yaz, I like hearing your questions. They’re pretty brilliant—or,  _ you’re _ pretty brilliant, I should say, and—”

Damn it. There was a point she wasn’t quite managing to get at. Yaz seemed to know what it was, judging by the smile on her face, but the Doctor didn’t want to ruin it by asking.

Then, she had the feeling she knew what it was, deep down.

“Really, you’re just great,” she finished lamely, because she  _ still _ couldn’t put a name to that sudden feeling in her chest. Like she was standing on a precipice, toes wiggling over the edge. Everything about to tip, but—

“So you didn’t mind me asking about moments?” Yaz said, and that was when it clicked.

Oh.  _ Oh _ .

The Doctor knew exactly what ledge she was standing on. And now that she knew, she sort of wanted to leap off.

“No, not at all,” she answered, and knew she’d said the right thing when Yaz took a step closer. “I should have just answered straight off, without all the batting around. See the thing about moments is—well I can sort of see—”

And Yaz had to be seeing it too, because now they were nearly close enough to touch, standing awkwardly by the door though neither of them wanted to move. The Doctor swallowed dryly again, and decided this had to be a multi-regenerational thing, the dry throat in these kind of circumstances.

“I can see each one individually,” she continued, very aware of Yaz’s proximity. And she was telling the truth, because she  _ could _ feel the moment tipping, towards something she had probably wanted for a very long time and only now really understood. “I can sense them all, but sometimes, with certain moments, you can feel—oh, how do I explain? As if it’s sliding towards something important, something—”

“Inevitable?” Yaz asked, and the Doctor only had time to think that she really  _ did _ come up with all the right questions, and then Yaz closed the gap and kissed her.

It was exactly the moment the Doctor had been talking about, the one they had been sliding to, really, since she’d grabbed onto her jacket hem, and all the Doctor could think, in the midst of it, was that she definitely should have done that sooner.

But for now, she just decided to enjoy it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, there are still a few days left for Thirteen Week, and if you want to check out the prompts you can find them here! https://thirteenfanzine.tumblr.com/post/187287257989/thirteen-week-is-here
> 
> Thirteen Week is part of the Thirteen Fanzine, which is a charity magazine dedicated to raising money to various causes by creating a really cool magazine celebrating the Thirteenth Doctor. And guess what? If you want to be part of it, submissions open September 1st! You can find out more about the submission guidelines here:   
> https://thirteenfanzine.tumblr.com/post/187165609374/submission-guidelines-are-here


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m soft

By the time they pulled her out of the water it was nearly too late.

She was still in chains when they brought her up, soaked and shivering violently, head lolling and cheeks tinged blue. It was Yaz who rushed forward first, without thought or foresight. No guard stopped her. In retrospect, she realized, they may have been too surprised that she’d survived at all.

If one could call it that.

“Get back!” Becka called uselessly. “She’s still alive, she must be—some other servant of Satan!”

But Yaz wasn’t listening, not were Ryan and Graham. They brushed past her, King James close on their heels, and it was Yaz who reached her first, pulling up short with sudden, trembling uncertainty when she caught sight of the Doctor, close up.

She really did look half dead. She was breathing, Yaz could tell—even as she watched she coughed weakly, water spraying from her lips—but she was shaking uncontrollably, her hands scratching uselessly at the chains. Her fingers, Yaz saw, were scraped and bloodied.

A chill swept over her.

“Doctor?” she called softly, and for a moment feared no response. But then the Doctor’s head jerked up, and her eyes darted wildly before falling upon Yaz.

“Y-Yaz?” Her teeth chattered, and Yaz’s heart broke. Quickly, she stepped forward, unsure what to do but propelled on by the insistent desire to do  _ something. _

“Yeah, are—are you okay?” Freezing water soaked immediately through the soles of her shoes. She could have cared less. She reached the Doctor and began to tug at the chains, finding with some surprise that they were already loose. For a beat she wondered why, until her eyes fell on those bloodied fingers, and she realized.

“I-I’m fine,” the Doctor chattered, and made a move to stand up just as Yaz pulled the last chains away. “F-f-fine, I’m just—“

She splashed down into the water, kicking up mud, and immediately collapsed. Yaz caught her, staggering a bit under her weight, then staggered even more as the Doctor pulled her close, clinging like a child to its mother.

“F-f-fine,” she muttered again, though she didn’t at all look it. “I’m j-just—s-so c-cold.”

Yaz could feel it. The Doctor’s body trembled against hers, water soaking into her coat, but Yaz just nodded and pulled her closer, wishing she could will warmth into her.

“I know, I’m sorry.” She wasn’t sure what to say. “That was really brave.”

The Doctor laughed, abrupt and hollow. “N-no, it j-just—n-needed to be done.”

Yaz had no reply for this. The Doctor was still shivering weakly, mumbling something Yaz couldn’t make out into her shoulder and then, just as Yaz shifted her arms to get a better grip, she felt her give out completely.

Luckily, she fell forward. Even more luckily, Ryan and Graham reached them just in time, supplying their combined strength to keep Yaz and the Doctor upright.

“Is she alright?” Graham asked as he reached her.

“It’s got to be hypothermia.” Ryan answered before Yaz could. “Nan always used to warn me about it.”

Yaz wracked her brain, trying to remember her first aid training. “We should get her inside. Somewhere warm.”

“There is an inn located in the center of the town.” All three looked to King James who, at their combined glares, had the good grace to look sheepish. Slightly. He cleared his throat, then drew himself up and continued. “I stayed there on my travel. I can ensure you will have rooms.”

Yaz almost wanted to argue, just on the basis of him being a git. But she could feel the Doctor in her arms, trembling even through unconsciousness, so she put it aside and gave him a curt nod.

They carried her together back to the inn—impossibly far away, so it seemed—and one look from King James granted then a spare, warm set of pajamas from the innkeeper. At least, Yaz thought they were pajamas. She wasn’t quite sure.

As the only woman of the group, it fell to Yaz to dress the Doctor, which she did with as much grim stoicness she could muster, studiously avoiding throwing even a careless look in her direction. The Doctor, only half conscious, let herself be shoved around like a rag doll, occasionally muttering things that made no sense to Yaz. At times, she even wondered if she were speaking English at all.

At long last, the Doctor warmly dressed, Yaz gently wrestled her under the covers, and drew them up to her chin before turning away. She would sleep, she’d already decided, on the floor. It would be cold, but she had her jacket and her gloves. She would be fine.

Only to freeze at the Doctor’s voice.

“Mm—Yaz?”

Yaz paused, then slowly turned.

“Yeah?”

The Doctor eyed her sleepily. She looked very small, alone in a wide bed with the covers pulled up to her chin. Yaz stared at her, and noticed vaguely that some of the color had come back to her cheeks. Not enough, but some.

“Where’re you going?” She sounded wan, nothing like her normal confident self. Her knuckles were white, bunching up the edge of the blanket.

“Uh—to sleep,” Yaz said, only for the Doctor’s face to crinkle in confusion. 

“Where?”

“The floor,” Yaz stated, as if it were obvious. The Doctor only stared.

“But it’s cold,” she said. Yaz looked at her, waiting for an answer, then ducked her gaze and fidgeted with the glove on one hand.

“Well, yeah,” she admitted after a moment. “But you’re in the bed, so…”

She trailed off, hoping the Doctor would get the point. She only continued to stare.

“Don’t you want to sleep in the bed?” she asked at last. Yaz’s heart inexplicably lurched.

“Um, I mean—“ she spluttered. “But—“

“Could you?” the Doctor asked. Yaz snapped her mouth shut, a sudden blush coloring her cheeks. Why was she blushing?

“Could I what?” she asked, playing dumb. For answer, the Doctor just nodded her chin at the covers.

“It’s cold,” she said again. As if it were the most simple thing in the world.

And maybe, Yaz was realizing, she had no choice but to agree. 

“You’re right,” she said slowly. Her eyes ran over the bed, gauging the space. There was enough certainly. It would be tight, maybe, but they could fit.

She just couldn’t figure out why her heart was beating so fast at the thought.

She brushed the thought aside and made her way over, greeted by a grin that sent stupidly ecstatic bolts through her heart. As she climbed in, keeping a careful space between her and the Doctor, she could feel sparkling, hopeful hazel eyes upon her, a look she couldn’t discern.

Yaz sucked in a breath, and slid down underneath the covers, making sure not to accidentally brush the Doctor.

The Doctor made no such compunctions. The moment she had nestled down, she felt the Doctor roll over, and moments later stifled a gasp of surprise as the Doctor’s arm fell across her, tugging her close. Her head fell against her shoulder, strands of hair under her chin.

A moment later, a murmur. “Is this okay?”

Yaz had no idea. Her heart was beating too fast to draw any conclusions. Instead she forced a nod.

“Sure.” Did she have to sound so strangled.

“Good.” A deep, contented sigh. “You’re really warm.”

“T-thanks.” There was no answer. Moments later, she felt the Doctor’s breathing slow, her head lolling deeper into her shoulder. Less than a minute later and, Yaz was pretty sure, she was completely out. 

And Yaz? Well, she had a feeling she wasn’t going to get much sleep that night. Funny enough, she didn’t mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what’s editing i wrote this during biology


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody's doing the whumptober thing, so I thought I'd hop on board. I sort of crammed 'beaten', 'shaky hands' and 'embrace' into one so we'll see how this one goes!

Yaz had not been home for five minutes before she heard the knock on the door. She paused, police hat in her hands—she’d been just about to set it down—then laid it upon the table and went to the door. None of her family were meant to be home yet, and although Yaz had been through quite a lot of things and was adept at fending for herself, just to be safe, she peeked through the peephole.

Immediately, she relaxed. The Doctor stood on the other side, glancing back and forth down the hallway as if she expected to be followed—but then, that wasn’t unusual for the Doctor. Probably, she had gotten into a spot of trouble, and had come to recruit Yaz to help her out.

Yaz almost chuckled to herself. Trust the Doctor to pick her up right as she’d gotten home from a shift, and on a Wednesday no less. A friendly rebuke rose to her lips, and as she twisted the handle, letting the door swing wide, it fell.

“You know, for a time traveler you timing might be—bloody hell Doctor, are you alright?”

The Doctor stepped through the door and gave her a grin spattered with bruises. One had spread across her right eye, leaving it terribly bloodshot, and another had swollen her lip, though she didn’t seem to notice. Rather, she just grinned broadly, hands churning, and when Yaz didn’t immediately say anything, jumped into conversation.

“Hiya, Yaz! Oh, is it not a Saturday? Sorry about that, I must have been distracted when I plugged in the coordinates. See, I was thinking to arrive early, have a bit of tea before we went off—”

“Doctor,” Yaz managed, finding her voice after a long moment. “What happened to you?”

The Doctor’s grin turned uneasy, tight-lipped. Her eyes darted anxiously around the room, then landed back on Yaz. She glanced down at herself, and tried to force her smile up again, but it failed halfway through. “Oh, this? Really nothing, just a spot of trouble. I got out of it okay, I mean I’m standing right here, aren’t I? Ooh, but we could be sitting, couldn’t we? Sitting with tea!”

And then she brushed past Yaz and right into the kitchen, leaving Yaz standing in the doorway, speechless. For a long moment, Yaz just tried to categorize the things she had seen—the tears in the Doctor’s coat, the rust colored patches, the mat in her hair—and then she turned, as if in a dream, and followed the Doctor to the kitchen.

The Doctor was already in motion, reaching up to pull a jar of tea bags down from the top shelf. Yaz wondered absently just how she’d known they were up there, then decided it didn’t matter.

“Doctor.” She made sure to say it slowly, carefully. Calm, just the way they had taught in trauma training. “Do you want to sit down and let me make the tea?”

“What?” The Doctor shot her a look that clearly implied the absurdity of that situation. “‘Course not, Yaz! Tea is better made by two, isn’t it?”

But there was a slight wobble in her voice Yaz couldn’t miss, and her fingertips were white around the jar. Her expression was uneasy, ever-shifting; her eyes couldn’t stay in one place. 

“Sure,” Yaz said automatically, and moved to the kettle. It was already on. She stared at it for a long moment, feeling very strange, then moved to the cupboard to get the cups out.

It didn’t take long for the kettle to boil, possibly because of the Doctor aiming her sonic at it when she’d thought Yaz wasn’t looking. Yaz bit her lip, and though a friendly jab rose to her lips, she didn’t say it. The Doctor could never wait for the kettle to boil. This time, however, there was something uncomfortable in the waiting; an edginess Yaz couldn’t quite place, but which she thought had something to do with the Doctor’s state.

Oh, she desperately wanted to ask her about it. Yaz was never good at waiting. But she knew from experience the Doctor would simply clam up, as she often did about touchy subjects and—well, what if she bolted? She looked any second as if she were about to.

Whatever had happened or not happened to the Doctor, Yaz wanted her where she could see her. Safe. She’d figure out how to broach the subject later.

“Oi, finally!” The Doctor rushed forward as the kettle began to sing, only for Yaz to get there first. The Doctor made to go around her, but Yaz, thinking quick, laid a steadying hand on her chest.

“I’ll pour,” she told her firmly, and when the Doctor opened her mouth to protest, scrabbled for an excuse. “My house, innit? You’re the guest, Doctor. I’m supposed to serve you.”

It was flimsy and see-through as cling-wrap, but after a moment, the Doctor gave in. Her shoulders sagged, and she turned, trudging to the table. Yaz watched her go, then glanced at her hand, though there was nothing on it but a few smudges of dirt from her coat. The Doctor had felt cold, and surprisingly frail. She’d been able to feel the beat of her hearts, thumping light and fast as a bird’s. 

It was unsettling.

She poured the tea quickly, then brought them over to the table, and tried not to crack a smile as the Doctor immediately reached for the sugar.

“Figured I’d leave that up to you,” she told her as she settled into her chair. “I can never figure out how much you like.”

“Oh, it depends on the day,” the Doctor replied, as she dumped her second spoonful into the cup. Sugar crystals coated the spoon, and Yaz stared at it, trying to figure out what to say. How to start.

“So, what have you been up to?” she said. Possibly the worst way to start, but—oh well, it was out there now.

The Doctor froze, spoon halfway to the jar. Then, faster than before, she shoveled another spoonful into her mug, then another.

“Oh, nothing,” she said savagely, biting off the words. “Just—sightseeing. Helping where I could. The usual. I do have a life outside of you lot, you know.”

“I know.” Yaz watched her dump another forceful spoon of sugar into her cup. “Anything interesting? I mean—”

“No,” the Doctor growled, abrupt as a thunderstorm. The spoon dove into the jar, scraping the sides as it went. “Nothing at all. Why, why do you ask?”

“Well—” Yaz began, then hesitated. The truth sat between them clear as day. She desperately didn’t want to say them. “It’s just, you seem a little battered, is all.”

“Oh, that?” The Doctor’s voice came out strained, a little too wobbly to buy. “That’s nothing. Nothing at all. Ran into a bit of trouble, but I’m fine, I made it back here, didn’t I? Really, Yaz, it’s nothing to worry about.”

Yaz opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again. The Doctor continued to dump sugar into her tea, certainly past the point of edibility, and in the few silent moments that stretched on, Yaz felt terrible useless. 

“Doctor,” she said softly. The Doctor didn’t answer. The spoon scraped the jar.

“Doctor.” 

No answer.

“Doctor, your—your hands are shaking.”

The Doctor paused, and her gaze fell to the spoon in her hands. It was shaking badly, poised over her cup, sending sugar everywhere. Yaz watched the Doctor stare, and after a long moment, turn the spoon to send the sugar cascading into the tea. Then she set it shakily by her side.

“Oh,” she said softly.”I guess I—I didn’t notice—”

Her fingertips were still trembling, Yaz noticed, clutching the edge of the table, and so was her upper lip, swollen and bruised as it was. She looked frail as a leaf in the wind, all of a sudden, buried under that great coat of hers, and as Yaz stared, she felt her heart break.

“Come here,” she said after a long moment, but when the Doctor didn’t move, she stood. She wasn’t sure what she was planning to do, exactly, but then she reached the Doctor and, for lack of ideas, dragged the chair next to her out and thumped down, then reached for her.

The Doctor wasn’t one to like hugs normally, so Yaz was surprised when she leaned in readily, her arms finding their way around her, scrabbling at the back of her vest. For a second Yaz wished that she’d had time to put on something a little more forgiving than her uniform, and then she decided it didn’t matter. Instead, she just let the Doctor lean against her, shaky as she was, and pulled her close, into the tightest embrace she could manage.

“Doctor,” she said after a few moments, “Do you want to talk about it?”

For a moment, no reply. Then she felt hair tickle her chin as the Doctor shifted her head back and forth to say ‘no’.

“I’m sorry, Yaz,” she said after another moment. “I suppose I just—”

Yaz laughed, a little hollow but gentle all the same. “No need for apologies, Doctor. I’m here for you, yeah? No matter what.”

“Are you?” The Doctor’s voice came small as a child’s. Yaz glanced down at her in surprise, then smiled, warm and a little tear-cracked.

“Of course. Doctor. I’m with you whatever happens.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YALL if you want to apply for the second edition of the Thirteen Fanzine, now is the time! You can check out more info about submissions here: https://thirteenfanzine.tumblr.com/post/188085721869/thirteenfanzine-submission-applications-are-open


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so hellynz had an idea in the discord.............hug pollen. So, this one's for you. <3

This wasn’t the Doctor. 

Yaz was sure of it. Something had changed in those spare moments that she had set outside the TARDIS.

“Just to check!” she’d called, one foot already out the door. “Readings are a bit funny, or maybe I’m just not reading ‘em right.”

“Oh, you mean like Montgomery, Alabama?” Ryan said.

“Technically, we  _ were _ in Montgomery,” Yaz pointed out. Ryan just shrugged.

“Only a moment!” the Doctor had called, and then she’d popped out, the door had slammed shut behind her, and they were all left staring after her, for one incredibly long minute.

And now...this.

“Doctor—” Yaz said, and tried without success to push her away. Over the Doctor’s shoulder, she cast Ryan and Graham a panicky glance. The pair simply responded with a shrug.

Yaz shot them both a glare, then shifted her gaze to the Doctor. It was a little hard, at such close proximity. Because the Doctor had managed, somehow, to wrap herself around Yaz with the tightness of a boa constrictor, which might have been amusing—or even welcomed—if it weren’t so...odd.

“Doctor,” Yaz said for the upteenth time. “Could we just—talk, for a second? Maybe I could ask you a question or two?”

It was her best police voice, and it seemed to work—or at least, the Doctor responded, her head lifting up to meet Yaz’s gaze. So close was she, that her hair, mussed about her head, tickled Yaz’s cheek.

“Something the matter?” she said, with a half grin that told Yaz immediately that she wasn’t all there. And indeed, it only took a look to confirm: the Doctor’s pupils were blown wide, her smile goofy. And Yaz had no idea why.

“Doctor, I think something happened to you,” she said. The Doctor just shrugged and, before Yaz could react, nestled her head once more in the nook between collarbone and shoulder.

“No—wait!” With some difficulty, and studiously tuning out the boys’ snickers, she forced the Doctor at arm’s length. “Doctor, something’s happened to you, and  _ we _ —” This was directed at Graham and Ryan, who exchanged a wide-eyed look before immediately leaping into action— “Need to figure out what it is!”

“But—” The Doctor sagged abruptly in her arms, looking so woefully downtrodden that Yaz nearly crumbled. Nearly. “Yaz, I just want—”

And her hands came up once more, wrapping around Yaz’s arms and then inching her closer until, before Yaz could properly figure out how to respond, they were within half a foot of each other, so close she could make out every speck in the Doctor’s hazel eyes.

Then, without warning, the Doctor collapsed into her arms with a little  _ hmmphI _ that might have been cute if it weren’t—if it weren’t—

Well, it was cute. But that didn’t mean Yaz was going to let it bother her.

“You’re blushing, Yaz,” Ryan told her as he sidled up behind the Doctor, Graham on his heels.

“Shut up!” Yaz shot back, with a little extra venom to prove that he was not, in fact, right. “Can you just—get her off me?”

Not that she particularly minded. In fact, it was rather nice—the Doctor wasn’t a known hugger. But at the same time, it was very odd, and totally out of the ordinary, which meant that Yaz wanted to get to the bottom of it,  _ now _ .

“As if we could,” Graham grumbled, but he too came up beside Ryan, and together they dug their hands under her armpits. “Right, son—on three. One, two—”

“Three,” Ryan grunted, and together, they pulled.

The Doctor might as well have been an octopus for the way she clung.

“No,” she said, as slowly, they began to pry her away. “Graham, Ryan, I don’t—”

“Sorry, Doc,” Ryan said as, with one final pull, they peeled her off of Yaz, sending her stumbling into their waiting hands.

“No!” the Doctor cried, and immediately lunged forward, only for Graham and Ryan to pull her back. “But, Yaz—!”

“I’m sorry, Doctor,” she told her honestly, and watched the Doctor’s face crumple. Inside, her own heart crumpled.

It wasn’t that she didn’t mind a hug. It was just that they had to get to the bottom of this. Because it was frankly a little disturbing.

And maybe more than a little endearing. The thought rose in her head, and she immediately stuffed it away.

“Uh, Yaz?”

Yaz turned to Ryan, who, with both hands full, pointed his chin towards her coat. 

“You’ve got gold dust all over you. From the Doctor, it looks like.”

“I—what?” Yaz looked down, only to see that he was right. Her coat was a mess of gold du—no, not dust. It looked more like— 

“Pollen!” she gasped, as she ran a hand over her lapel and came away with a finger full. “Ryan, this must be what’s affecting the Doctor!”

“You really think?” Ryan asked, then grimaced and tightened his hold as the Doctor whined and made another lunge for Yaz. 

“Why don’t you give it a scan?” Graham chimed in. When Yaz’s head shot up in confusion, he gestured towards the console. “The Doctor showed me once. See that capsule there? Plug in any substance, you’ll get a result. With our luck though, it’ll probably be in alien, or something.”

Yaz looked up at the console, chewing her lip. “You think it’ll work?”

“I think—” He broke off as the Doctor once again bolted, and tightened his arms around her. “Oi, just give it a try! I doubt we can hold her forever.”

“Oh—yeah,” Yaz said hastily, and stepped forward. She swiped her finger through the capsule, watched it slide shut, and then took a step back, a worried crease in her brow.

Immediately, light flashed within the capsule. When it disappeared, so had the pollen, but the monitor just to the right winked on, and iterations of data began to scroll. Yaz watched, half torn between interest and—when she glanced toward the Doctor—worry.

It didn’t take long for results to flash across the screen—mercifully in English. Yaz stepped forward, and scanned the data, eyes widening with each line.

“Well, what is it?” Ryan called after a long, restless moment.

Yaz stepped back, then shook her head and turned to face them.

“It’s not dangerous,” she said. Her gaze ran over the Doctor, worried but no longe edged with urgency. “Apparently it’s a pollen that--intensifies? A need for physical contact. TARDIS says the person affected latches on to the first person they see, and—” She broke off, shrugged.

“And that was you,” Ryan completed. Yaz hesitated, then, with a slight flush, nodded. “Any idea if we can make it stop.

Yaz shook her head. “You can’t. You just have to wait. Usually a few hours, ‘ccording to the TARDIS.”

“Well, that’s fine,” Graham grumbled. “Just dandy. So, can we let go of her now? Or do you need your space bubble?”

“I—” Again, Yaz hesitated. Her eyes ran over the Doctor, who was reaching to her uselessly, eyes wide and desperate. 

She didn’t mind. Might as well admit that to herself. She didn’t mind at all.

“I’m fine,” she said. “You can let her go.”

Graham heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank god. Here you go, then. Ready, Ryan?”

Ryan nodded and, as one, they took a step back.

The result was instantaneous. The Doctor, already straining to break their grip, stumbled forward at the sudden freedom, then rushed Yaz. They collided with an  _ oomphI _ And before Yaz knew it, the Doctor’s arms were wrapped tight around her, her head buried in her neck.

“Hi, Yaz,” she said, her voice muffled into her collarbone. Yaz just laughed.

“Hi, Doctor,” she said. Then, ignoring the knowing look Ryan was shooting her, she carefully slid her arms around the Doctor’s back, and resigned herself to staying there for the next few hours.

Though, if truth be told, it was anything but a punishment.      


	12. Chapter 12

This was Sonya’s plan, which was why it was so incredibly stupid. That didn’t mean Yaz wasn’t going to try it. Because she was at the end of her rope.

Months of dropping hints, increasingly obvious flirtation, and even enlisting Ryan’s help, to the poorest results. The Doctor was oblivious. Utterly, implacably, oblivious.

“She likes you, Yaz,” Ryan insisted again and again, as Yaz sat in the library and sulked. “Have you seen how she pays more attention to you? She just—doesn’t pick up on that stuff?”

“How can she not?” Yaz had exclaimed. “I’ve been practically shovin it in her face, haven’t I? What more do I need to do?”

“You could...tell her?” Ryan said, then quickly backtracked at the look upon her face. “Or not! I don’t know! You just have to...make it obvious.”

Obvious. She had to make it obvious. Which was why she was standing in her kitchen at five in the morning, with her family conveniently out of town, waiting for the Doctor to come fix a pipe she had made sure to break herself. In nothing but her underwear and an oversized t-shirt.

Nobody, Yaz was certain of it, could miss the signals.

The doorbell rang and Yaz immediately leapt to open it, skidding to a halt just before she did to make sure her hair was only artfully mussed. She pushed a strand back, tugged at the hem of her shirt—she usually slept in regular pajamas, making this whole thing just a little bit odd—and pulled open the door.

And nearly choked.

The Doctor was standing there with a  _ toolkit _ tucked under her arm, outfitted in green coveralls and boots, as if she were an actual plumber. She looked ridiculous. She looked like a video game character.

She looked, Yaz thought with gritted teeth, absolutely adorable.

“Hiya, Yaz!” the Doctor chirped, and stepped past her without waiting for an invitation. “Came to fix that leak you were telling me about! Sorry I’m a bit early, thought we’d get this in before our Saturday trip. Kitchen, right?”

Then she wandered off, leaving Yaz to stand there, frozen in shock, one hand on the doorknob. She glanced at her clothes, then hurriedly shut the door, before the neighbors could spy her.

_ How _ had the Doctor not noticed…?

“Yep, kitchen!” she called in a slightly strangled voice, and quickly followed, shock melting into huffy determination. So, step one hadn’t worked. She could still make it happen. Probably.

Yaz stepped into the kitchen and hastily leaned against the counter, right where the toolkit had been set down. The Doctor was already head-deep into the cupboard under the sink, and her voice echoed back as she talked out the problem.

“It almost looks like somebody unscrewed...well, nevermind! I can just put it back on again. The part that’s broken off looks fine to me. I just need…”

She poked her hand out towards Yaz. “Mind getting me a screwdriver?”

Yaz frowned, and settled herself even closer against the counter, in a position that  _ screamed _ suggestive. When she didn’t reply, the Doctor poked her head out.

“Yaz, mind if you hand me…” She trailed off, and for a moment Yaz felt a brief flush of success. Then the Doctor frowned, and the success slipped away.

“Oi, why did I put my kit up there! Pretty thick of me. Mind setting that on the ground?”

Yaz stared for a long moment. “Doctor…” she asked carefully, “Is that the only thing you noticed?”

The Doctor’s frown deepened, turned to confusion. Yaz waited, irritation warring with nervous apprehension.

Then, the Doctor’s face lit up. “Yaz, your hair looks lovely! Did you try a new look?”

Yaz stared at her. Then she huffed a sigh, reached for the toolkit, and dropped it on the floor with a thud. “There you go.”

Then she collapsed on the floor herself, a good several feet away, and leaned against a cupboard, crossing her arms. She didn’t look at the Doctor, but she heard a cheery “Thanks, Yaz!” and then the sound of the toolkit being dragged closer.

They didn’t talk for the entire time the Doctor worked on the pipe, other than the Doctor’s stream of self-directed ramblings, half-muffled through the cupboard. Yaz refused to look at her, except for the occasional glance—that outfit looked stupid, incredibly stupid, except  _ she _ was wearing it—until at last the Doctor sat back on her heels, wiped her forehead, and let out a satisfied breath.

“All fixed! And a good job if I do say so myself, even with primitive human tools—hey Yaz, are you okay? You seem a little upset.”

_ That _ was what the Doctor picked up on, Yaz thought grumpily, when that was what she’d been trying so hard to hide. For a moment she didn’t respond, then she let out a sigh, and turned to face the Doctor.

“I’m not mad,” she said. “I’m just...well, I just don’t get how you’re missing this, Doctor.”

There it was, out in the open. She gestured to her outfit, and the Doctor stared, baffled. 

“It’s a cool shirt,” she said at last. Something inside Yaz splintered in frustration. “Is it vintage?”

“What?” Yaz glanced down at her old Star Wars shirt, then shook her head. Now she really  _ was _ edging on irritation. “No, Doctor, this! What I’m doing! Are you ignoring it on purpose? Because you can just tell me.”

The Doctor simply looked at her. She tilted her head, studied Yaz thoughtfully, then said, “I would say you’re sitting on the floor, if that’s what you mean, though no offence, it could use a good sweep—”

“Oh my  _ god _ —” That was when Yaz, out of frustration, through all caution to the wind. She huffed and, while she wasn’t quite close enough to just lean in, managed to reach out and snag the Doctor by the coveralls.

Then she leaned in and kissed her.

The Doctor made a small noise of utter surprise, and then, wonder of all wonders, she was kissing Yaz back, as if she’d been waiting for this moment since she’d walked in. So astonishing was it that Yaz, despite her utter enjoyment, pulled back and stared.

“You wanted to do that,” she said in disbelief. The Doctor just shrugged, flushed.

“Well sure, but I wasn’t going to accost you while you were walkin around in just pajamas—”

“Oh, I  _ hate _ you,” Yaz said, and then, just to shut her up, leaned in and kissed her again. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for hellynz luv u b

She was hurt.

That was the first thing Yaz registered when they stumbled back into the TARDIS, the carnivorous vines still snapping at their heels. It had been a harrowing trip, all of ten minutes, from the moment they stepped out of the TARDIS to the moment they’d realized that the plants carpeting the surface of the planet were not only very much alive, but also very much hostile.

And of course, the Doctor had been the first to be caught.

They’d managed to wrench her out of the vine’s toothy grip and stumbled back into the TARDIS, the Doctor weaving in such a perilous way as to send Yaz’s heart right into her throat.

She disguised it, as she always did, with bluster and a commanding voice, spinning the Doctor around to properly check her out.

“Let me see you.”

The Doctor did as told, turning to face Yaz, only to nearly fall right into her.

“Oops.” Her head was sunk low, her shoulders sagging, and she wavered in place, even as Yaz shot out a hand to steady. Puncture holes drove deep into her coat, even—to Yaz’s horror—her neck and hands, and as she watched, orangish blood leaked out. Bruises from the grip of the vine wove across her skin.

It was enough to make Yaz’s stomach churn.

“Doctor—” Her voice was too high to be commanding, so she threw that out the window. Behind the Doctor, Ryan and Graham gave her uneasy looks, to which she only gave a minuscule shake of her head. Out of all of them—even with what knowledge Grace had passed onto the boys—Yaz knew the most first aid.

“Doctor,” she said again, and brought out another hand to steady. “How do you feel?”

“Weird,” the Doctor mumbled, and tried to lift her chin up, only to let it drop a moment later. “M’sorry, Yaz, I think I’m—I—”

“You’re hurt,” Yaz said, and with both hands gripping the Doctor’s shoulders, dithered. She didn’t know what to do. She had to get her to the medbay, but the Doctor barely looked as if she could walk. “Do you think you could walk on your own feet?”

But the Doctor only shook her head. “M—m’fine. I just need—”

“Yaz, I think something might have been in those thorns,” Ryan piped up, and when Yaz shot him a confused glance, he pointed. “Look!”

Yaz looked, and her heart sank. He was right; around the puncture wounds, there leaked a shiny green substance, a similar color to that of the vine itself.

“Oh no,” Yaz whispered, then strengthened her voice. “Doctor, we have to scan you.”

But the Doctor only shook her head, wide and loose. “Don’t need’m,” she mumbled. “M’know what this is.”

“Really?” Relief squeaked Yaz’s voice. She ignored the raised eyebrows Ryan shot her. “What is it?”

“S—Straum Vernaculus,” the Doctor managed after a moment. She tried to straighten, only to sink again, nothing to catch her but Yaz’s grip. “Makes you...makes you…”

Then she trailed off, head dropping a centimeter lower.

“Doctor!” Yaz called, panic overriding her calm. “Doctor, what does it make you do?”

“Makes…” The Doctor’s voice was barely audible. “Makes...makes you...sleepy.”

And that was when she slumped forward, right into the Doctor’s chest, her entire body going loose as a rag. Yaz caught her with a slight ‘oomph!’ of surprise, her eyes going wide, and for a minute didn’t know what to do. Then she glanced at the Doctor’s face, half-nestled in her collarbone, and caught the slow rise and fall of her shoulders, and realized that she was asleep. Or if not asleep, very close to it.

Behind the Doctor, there came a low chuckle from Graham. Ryan immediately followed, and Yaz shot them both a glare. Then she mouthed ‘help me’, to which Ryan only shrugged.

“Looks like she doesn’t want to move,” he said. Graham concurred with a nod.

“Think you can stand her for a few hours, love?” he asked.

Yaz considered this. Despite the first surprise of having to catch her, the Doctor wasn’t exactly...an  _ uncomfortable _ weight. In fact, though she was rather cool, she seemed to mold instinctively into Yaz’s arms, collapsed as she was into her collarbone. 

It wasn’t bad. In fact, it was actually quite nice. Like hug, if the Doctor were the type to give hugs. And she seemed comfortable like that.

Yaz looked up at the boys, still waiting for an answer, and sighed.

“Yeah, I guess,” she said, and pointedly ignored Ryan’s wide, implicative grin. 

—————-

She’d managed to get her onto the couch in the entertainment room before she woke up. Or rather, half-woke up. In reality, she only stirred slightly, raising her head in such a way that strands of blond hair fell over half-closed eyes.

“Where’m I?” she mumbled. Yaz glanced down at her, curled as she was against her side, then reached out to turn down the volume on the TV.

“In the entertainment room,” she said, voice hushed. As if that would keep the Doctor from waking up all the way. “How’re you feeling?”

“Mmmm.” The Doctor sighed, deep and contented and nothing like Yaz had ever heard, and her head fell back against Yaz’s shoulder. “M’good. Sleeping.”

“Right.” Yaz swallowed, and resisted the urge to laugh. “Did you want to get up?”

Even half-asleep, her nose crinkled in distaste at the idea. “Do I have to?”

Yaz shook her head. “No. We can stay like this if you want. I don’t mind.”

“Oh. Good.” The Doctor sighed again, blowing out strands of hair with the movement, then snuggled in closer, one hand coming up to wrap around Yaz as if she were a teddy bear. “Don’t move though. Okay?”

“Oh.” Yaz’s eyes widened, her heart suddenly pounding in her throat. “Sure.”

“Good.” She didn’t say anything more. In a moment, her breathing slowed, and a few seconds later, or at least to Yaz’s eye, she was out.

Yaz waited a few seconds, just to make sure, then carefully worked her arm free and wrapped it around the Doctor, pulling her just a little closer. If only because she seemed cold. Sort of. Then, carefully, she let her own cheek rest against the top of the Doctor’s head. 

“Tell me if this bothers you,” she said. The Doctor didn’t reply. After a moment, Yaz smiled.


End file.
